Teaching Discipline
by The Escaped
Summary: It takes a village to raise a child. How many are needed for four? One-shots surrounding the relationships between the adults and children of Discipline Cottage. K to be safe.
1. Crumbs in the Kitchen

Lark-Briar Crumbs in the Kitchen

_Hi! I have no idea what to say here so I'll just try stream of thought. I'm in love with the Circle of Magic books and so here is my first fanfiction about them! I will write a chapter about each teacher and their interactions with each student at Discipline, for a total of at least sixteen chapters! Most of these will take place during the Circle's first year at Winding Circle. I will try to update as often as I can, though I warn you now, that this April and May will contain a horrific amount of schoolwork. (Reviews will inspire me *hint hint*!)_

_Wish me luck, and please enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I own none of the Circle of Magic, nor any other part work of Tamora Pierce._

'_He'd crept in at night, in the days after his arrival, when a full belly was still cause for excitement and he'd filled it as often as he could' –Briar Tris's Book_

"_When I got the wheezes, what the healers call asthma, I couldn't work as a tumbler anymore. The only place I could afford to live was the Mire." –Lark, Briar's Book_

Rosie called it making her rounds, what Lark did on nights when memories kept her up. She didn't make noise. Not with the dreams she woke from. Slipping off her shoes to let bare toes kiss the wood, Lark would make her way through Discipline, touching the knick-knacks that had accumulated on the hearth, the table, the dishes stacked away for morning. Lark had built up a life in this house. She would feel that life until the pattern reminded her that this was hers; and no one would ever be able to take it away. Rosie didn't understand this side of her. Everything in her life had possessed some form of stability. Not like the Mire.

The Mire was a cold place, even when the sun stuck high and hot in the summer and the smell thickened into a fog. It was a never-enough place (_never enough food to stop the gnawing turning her stomach inside out, never enough places to hide, never enough kindness, never enough air to get through her damaged throat.) _Small wonder Lark still woke up with sweats, the smell of mold in her nose and the feeling that someone was behind her.

At least, that's what she told herself as she breathed in the meditation pattern, loosening her throat again. Rosie brewed medicine that made the wheezes hide –_asthma, not wheezes, she knew how to talk like an educated person now-_ but Lark didn't want to take it so late at night. Right now, the worry she had was slightly lower than her airway.

After nearly a year in the Mire, coming to Winding Circle had been better than a dream come true. Meeting Rosie was even better. No more never-enoughs for the newly-christened Lark!

And yet… it was nights like these, when she could feel the hunger eating her insides through last night's meal, that Lark couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't last. Because anyone who'd lived in the Mire knew that it _never_ lasted, nothing good _ever_ lasted as long as this had been allowed to go on.

This time though she couldn't do the whole house. Niko had brought trouble home to Winding Circle. Two new visitors, both children; to Rosie's dismay. The boy had locked his door before he'd even had both feet over the threshold. The other one, a former Trader named Daja, had possessed better manners, though it was clear she didn't think much of living with _kaqs_.

There were crumbs in the kitchen. Someone had been at the breadbox. A shadow flickered by the door as she turned, Lark made sure not to look directly at it as she turned away. "That would taste better with milk, I think." She remarked quietly.

The boy, hidden in the shadows, choked on the roll. Coughing as he lurched to his feet, he lunged away from Lark, who was blocking his escape route.

He watched her warily. A bruise stood out on his golden brown cheek from the fight that had landed him at Discipline. Lark would have to get Rosie to look at that in the morning, if she could convince the boy to stay in the room long enough with the sharp-tongued woman. A thin chest heaved as he waited for her to make a move towards him. This boy, this Briar Moss, was half-starved, and ready to bolt. Inside Lark cried that a boy so young had known so many never-enoughs; on the outside she smiled at him, drawing out a look of incredulity.

"Milk, I said. Would you like some?" He blinked. Lark had startled him. Good, she hoped that meant he wouldn't use the knife he'd palmed while she'd looked him over. "Then come and sit at the table. I think I'll have some too."

Lark went to fetch the pitcher from the coldbox. Behind her, she heard the scrape of a chair and smiled. On her way back to the table, she fetched two more rolls to chase away the sharp angles on his body. He'd grown up in a place every bit as hard as the Mire, and she intended that he know his nightmare was over.

Mila knew Lark was starting to.

_So there you have it folks! Please let me know what you think!_


	2. Plague Talks

Frostpine-Sandry Plague Talks

_It took a PowerPoint, two dialogues, three compositions, a 7 page French paper, and a 10 page History one, but I'm back! I heartily apologize for the wait; I've never had people interested in my writing like this before and didn't expect to have people waiting for other chapters. Hopefully with finals out of the way next week, I will be able to update more._

_Thanks go out to BrOnZe-N-SilVeR, sweetmint101, Auraya-of-the-White, and RadicalCat. RadicalCat and BrOnZe-N-SilVeR, your reviews made me cry. I hope my fic is worthy of them. Auraya-of-the-White, your follow was the best birthday present I got this year. Sweetmint101, your favorite came at an incredibly stressful week and was very much appreciated. Sarafine-ecleips, thank you as well and I like the idea of your story Angelfire! Each of your support means the world to me and I am deeply grateful to you and to the wonderful people who favorited/commented/followed my other stories._

_Disclaimer: I own no part of Tamora Pierce's work._

_Sandry felt dizzy. Any disease that showed pockmarks reminded her of the epidemic that had killed her family. –Sandry, Briar's Book p.25_

"Bundle up everything you'll need for two or three days," Frostpine said to his apprentice. Daja looked so small compared to him, not matter how much taller than Sandry she was. Sandry, startled out of her prayers, leaned closer to listen. "I can't turn out enough boxes on my own. We're going to work until we drop, I'm afraid."

Sandry's heart stopped. "She's leaving too?" Frostpine and Lark stopped talking to stare at her. Sandry barely even noticed. Daja had already run for her room, right past without a word. She had to pass Rosethorn and Briar's rooms. No one would come out to see who was making all the noise; because they were trapped in the Mire, in airless rooms with an unknown disease that would scar and kill them. Her family was leaving again, and she would be all alone. "_Three _of us gone?"

He gave some response, but she was too worked up to hear it. In her mind's eye she could see Briar and Rosethorn. As she watched, blue pockmarks that looked much more like smallpox bloomed on their faces like horrifying flowers. Their eyes dulled; they were lost in the dark.

Her stomach rolled. Sandry fled to her room. The lamp in the corner, reduced to a standby now that she had the magic light from the others, rattled as she passed. The shadows in her mind stretched out hungry fingers, eager to play now that half her family was gone.

"Can I come in?" Sandry wiped her eyes hastily and whipped around. Frostpine leaned on her door, arms crossed.

Briar would have laughed at her if he was home and called her a skirt. But the street-savvy boy who followed her into fights and was teaching her to balance a knife on her finger when the grownups were out wasn't here. He was 'cribbed up' in Urda's Womb with the sick, and no matter how much he hid it he was scared. That scared _her._

"Sandry." Frostpine's voice was gentle. His eyes were full of pity. Everyone knew why she was in Discipline. Her bloodline preceded her even in the walls of Winding Circle. Everyone knew this would make the night-horrors come back when they had no right to. She stared at him without comprehension.

He was handling her inattention much better than Rosethorn would have. The thought was enough to make tears spring to her eyes again, but Frostpine kindly didn't notice. He was examining the Tree of Life tapestry Lark had helped her to weave. "I was a novice with Rosethorn you know. Crane, her, and I knew each other before the two went off to Lightsbridge for training."

She sniffed and looked at him. As far as comforting went, this was more confused than anything else. Frostpine continued, "The two of them and four others created something called essences. The essences have helped cure diseases faster than they ever have been before. Rosethorn and Crane together have worked on finding cures and updating for the last dozen or so outbreaks of sickness, practically since they were a little older than you."

Sandry wiped her eyes. She had lost so many people to disease, or to the anarchy that followed them. She couldn't bear to lose any more.

"I'm not saying it won't be hard, but they'll get through it. Do you think a disease would dare show its face to Rosethorn?" That pulled a reluctant smile from her. "And they'll have our help. Winding Circle is always the first to begin the research to find a cure. Crane might be hard to deal with, but he's one of the best at what he does. And Daja, Kirel, and I will bring them one step closer. Alright?"

Nothing was ever alright in a plague; but this was probably the closest she would get. She tried to smile at him. The magic she could see off Frostpine was like a strong beacon: it reassured her when she thought of it helping to cure whatever pox this was. The memory of Rosethorn's strength went even further to calming her down.

They rode off not long after that. Sandry watched them go, waving as hard as she could. Plague wouldn't strip her people away a second time.

_Because under all that soot, I think Frostpine is just an old softie at heart. However, he is also going to be the hardest for me to write because I feel like I know less about him than any of the other teachers. Please let me know what you thought so I can find out how to improve my portrayal of him. This scene is intended to take place just after they get the news of the quarantine in Briar's Book. On page 50 there is a moment when Daja goes to get her things, and when she comes back Frostpine is talking to Sandry, so this scene and some of the dialogue at the beginning are taken from that. _


	3. Fate

_Hi, it's me again! Thank you for being so patient with me and my writer's block, which decided to wait until I actually had time to write before settling in. Special thanks this edition for Brie4, Readgergirl99 and catleopardclaw for following me, as well as the favorites for my other recent story Unforgiveness from Readergirl99 again __ and strangestnightmare, and the review from Unformal Sorrelle. Over 125 hits on my story! You guys are the best!_

_This chapter takes place directly after the forest fire in Daja's Book but before the ending. For a completely unfathomable reason, it's harder than I expected to write Daja, but I do feel pretty satisfied with this one. Please let me know if you agree. _

_Disclaimer: The same_

Niko-Daja Fate

_"I'm taking her to Winding Circle Temple," He told the Council, his dark eyes sparkling with anger, "_They'll_ appreciate her, with or without Trader luck!" -Niko, Sandry's Book_

_"I guess it's silly for a _trangshi_ to bathe, since uncleanness is more than skin deep."-Daja, Daja's Book_

The ship from Capchen took longer than he had expected to make port in Emelan. Niko felt a brush of guilt as he left the scowling redheaded girl to the more-capable hands of Winding Circle. His sight was fogged with visions of a ship, Trader-make, battered by wind. One figure, big but a child nonetheless, was thrown against the side of the failing ship. She fell against the closed hatch. As the ship bucked and tossed she gripped the wood with strong hands, and when the hatch door went flying she went with it.

Later- almost too late- he stood with the girl, who wasn't even close to recovered, and couldn't stand in the way of her people casting her out. Perhaps it came too close on the end of the Trisana girl's story, but his words were just sharp enough that the _mimander_ was obliged to explain.

"Her fate is to be _trangshi_." He insisted, a thin voice under layers of _qunsuanen_ yellow. Niko was furious on behalf of the girl he wouldn't know until much later.

It was Daja herself who saw it, months after the fact, though she would have more cause to remember the words than he. As he took his shift by her bed- they were taking it in turns so Frostpine would get some rest- she smiled weakly at him and waved that peculiarly brass-clad hand.

"'Lo Niko." Her voice was a rasp. Even a smith-mage's magic and Rosethorn's tonics combined couldn't erase the damage of a forest fire in a night. The girl's new staff was propped against the wall by her bed.

"Rosethorn told you not to speak until her medicine has had time to work."

Daja made a face. "I'm fine."

"You inhaled a lot of smoke, and furthermore you are seriously depleted of magic."

"I'm a smith-mage. I'll be inhaling smoke for the rest of my life. And I can work on my project without using my magic." At his look she made another face.

"There will be time for talking later. For now rest." Niko would give a lot to be able to rest. But there was the injured to deal with, and the Lady Inoulia to contend with, and Duke Vedris wanted to know when the snows would come. He would probably doze off in this chair if he wasn't careful.

At least Daja was drifting off as well. Her eyes were fluttering closed as she whispered, "The _mimander _was right after all."

"What?"

"The one at my trial. Remember? You told them to give me a second chance and the _mimander_ said it was my fate to be _trangshi_. He didn't say forever." With that she fell deeply asleep as Rosethorn's medicines took hold.

Her pronouncement was met with startled silence from the other three occupants of the room (Briar was currently hiding under Tris' bed, being the only one of the children who didn't share the room. Niko decided he would let him get away with it this time.

It was Rosethorn's turn next anyway- she would set him straight.)

"Niko?" Sandry whispered so as not to wake her.

"I'm not going to give her secrets away Sandry. You may ask her when she is feeling better."

Tris spoke next. "She's going to leave, isn't she? She'll choose them over us." Niko saw Sandry open her mouth to deny it and stop, unsure. Tris's chin trembled. "Fine. See if I care," snapped the redhead, and she pulled the blanket over her head.

Niko was fairly sure that Sandry spoke through their bond then, or Briar. He was glad for it, for he wasn't sure what he would have said.

"I hope Koma and Oti see how valued you are here," he murmured to the sleeping apprentice.

_I thought that the audience where Daja was declared trangshi would definitely stick in both Niko and Daja's minds and then when I was stuck figuring out a Daja/Niko oneshot I remembered this part where Daja was choosing between her two lives._

_There you have it folks! Thanks for sticking with me this far!_


	4. Cough Drop

_I'm back! This chapter marks the third time I've struggled through writing a complete chapter, just to have a better idea as soon as I finish it. Hopefully, the wait was worth it for all my faithful readers! Rosethorn is certainly a lot more fun to write than some of the other teachers. _

_Thanks go out in this chapter to BookFreak976 for their wonderful comment. The continued reviews and favorites I've received fill me with warm, glowy feelings. Over 230 hits guys! Wow!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything more than the works on my flash drive. _

_Timeline: This takes place about midway through _Daja's Book_, when the smoke from the grassfires is affecting Tris. _

Rosethorn-Tris Cough Drop

'_Lark and Rosethorn were good friends, and Briar loved his teacher, but Tris couldn't begin to guess why. Was this the face of Rosethorn that Lark and Briar saw, when no one else was looking?' –Tris, Tris's Book_

Lark had always wanted children, the Green Man alone knew why, but she _liked_ them. Rosethorn was glad their situation prevented having any. She was no good for kids; that much was obvious.

So when Tris trailed Rosethorn up to her room at Gold Ridge, dragged by the wrist, neither of them was happy with it. The sounds of coughing pursued the girl, echoing in the stairwell. "I'm _fine_!" she insisted between coughs, red-faced with embarrassment.

"Of course," she said dryly, "You're so fine you've nearly lost your voice."

Her face got, if possible, redder. Tris tried unsuccessfully to tug her hand out of Rosethorn's grip. "I don't need your help!"

Rosethorn stopped walking then and looked her in the eye. The girl swallowed and looked away first. Her free hand played with the gauze scarf Lark had given her to fight the smoke. Mila, Rosethorn wasn't cut out for this.

Tris looked at her feet as Rosethorn searched through the stock of medicines she'd brought from Winding Circle. Rosethorn let the girl stew as she thought. As a rule the dedicate avoided Tris. It had nothing to do with her magic. Tris _was_ Rosethorn, without a Lark to soften her words. Even Rosethorn acknowledged that two of her was too many. Rosethorn had chosen her name with care; it was a warning. She went around pricking people too easily to be in charge of a house of children.

Besides, if her home life had been sufficiently bad that Niko saw fit to warn her to be gentle, then Rosethorn figured she should talk to the girl as little as possible.

Lark had told her that Tris had finally unpacked her suitcases shortly after the pirate attack, after stalling through introductions and lessons and earthquakes. Rosethorn was glad; no one should have to live as a guest in Discipline Cottage.

As Rosethorn found the right tonic the girl's bird sailed through the window and settled on her shoulder. Tris yelped as he pecked her and tried to fend off his beak. "Drink this." Tris didn't fight the cup that was thrust into her hand.

She also didn't drink it. Instead, the child looked at her tonic as if it might bite her.

"I didn't make it to sit in your hand." Rosethorn said testily. The grassfires on the plains were itching her magic. It made her already short temper fray all the more.

Tris squinted up at her, the same way she had watched months ago when Rosethorn had explained bird care to her. Her hair was cropped nearly to her ears. Cut short as it was, she might have been mistaken for Rosethorn's daughter.

Rosethorn didn't know what to think about that. "I don't see you drinking," she prodded instead. That was all a rose thorn could do, prod and poke and prick, until she pushed everyone away.

Shockingly Tris put it to her lips and drank, then promptly screwed up her face. Rosethorn smiled crookedly and poured her a cup of water to wash away the taste. She fiddled with the cup then, not meeting her eyes. "What is it girl? I don't have all day."

"I saw some medicine like that at a marketplace once," she said quietly, "It was worth a silver astrel."

Ah. The Chandlers' coin-pinching habits. Lark was turning positively tetchy on the subject of Tris's family, and Tris's old place in it. Lark got territorial about her charges. But Tris was looking at the vial like it was proof of something. Money talked to merchant families. Rosethorn had a good idea of what it was saying to Trisana Chandler.

"I'm sure it was overpriced." Rosethorn said gruffly. "Besides that, I made it. It didn't cost me anything."

Tris swallowed again. "Right."

Rosethorn busied herself with her mage-kit, not looking at the girl in her ill-fitting dresses, awkwardly bereft without her magic. "There's no need for you to be sick. I brew medicines, for Green Man's sake. If your cough doesn't go away by tomorrow you'll come back up here and I'll give you another dose. Is that understood?"

The girl nodded, still blank. Rosethorn shooed her out then, before either of them said something completely maudlin. But later, when Rosethorn caught Tris looking at her and blushing as she cut aloe leaves, she thought she might have won something.

She would leave it at that then, until the next time Tris needed her. In the meantime, she had a boy to torment.

Maybe, just maybe, this child-rearing thing wasn't so hard as she'd thought.

Special Announcement! This chapter will be followed soon with a spontaneous BONUS chapter! Who will feature in it? Guess in the reviews!

Unfortunately, I cannot cook, and so while critiques and comments will not be rewarded with cookies- barring charcoal-flavored ones- reviewing will fill you with a sense of accomplishment and get-to-it-iveness. (Seriously, try it out!)

Thank you all for reading my work; and I look forward to any and all comments!


	5. Substitute Teacher

_Special thanks to Samantha NightWolf for favoriting my story, as well as Tiffile for following it. Continued thanks to those of you who as still following Teaching Discipline. We're only a third of the way through this month, and already nearly a hundred people have looked at this story. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, and also thanks to GixieChic and Lucky Guard for favoriting my other CoM fanfiction: Unforgiveness_

_Bonus Chapter! Niko, Frostpine, Lark and Rosethon might have been the four's main teachers, but Crane is too awesome to leave out! Tell me what you think, and if there is any other combination you want to see, I will be happy to write it (or read anyone else's take)._

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Not enough shooting stars in the world for that one._

_Timeline: After Briar's Book, but before Rosethorn has relearned to speak, so before the epilogue._

_Crane-Briar Substitute Teacher_

"_Rosethorn _is_ a great mage. She is one of the most powerful with regard to medicines and plants in all of the Pebbled Sea and its environs."_

"_He says 'one of' because he's another," –Crane and Rosethorn, _Briar's Book

'_Never Briar. Or Frostine. Or Tris' teacher Niko, or our sometimes teacher Crane,"-Daja_ Will of the Empress.

Crane didn't know which god hated him, but he had a feeling it might be Mila. How else had be ended up sitting in the middle of that woman's garden (ruining his robes, no doubt), with her boy squinting at him suspiciously?

"I don't see why you gotta give me lessons." he complained again.

"You don't see why I _have to_ give you lessons." Crane corrected. "And you must, surely. So long as your teacher is indisposed, you remain in need of a teacher. I-unfortunately- am the best replacement. Do not imagine that I enjoy this any more than you do."

The boy scowled at him. "Rosethorn's gonna get better soon! Then she can teach me herself."

"Acaia witness it, I certainly hope so. Then you'll no longer be my problem. With any luck she could teach you better grammar as well. Now, if we may begin to work-" He gestured at the garden.

"Rosethorn don't want you lookin' at her cinnamon!" The boy called out at once. The entire morning had been conducted in a similar vein.

Crane had to refrain from banging his head against the wall. "If I wish to know how to grow it poorly, I will look at her cinnamon. As it is, I don't. Now I know you are able to speak better than that, so please do so." His response was a merciless grin.

"Not at the tomatoes neither!"

"Very well!" he snapped at last. "We'll conduct your lesson somewhere else!"

The boy lingered at Rosethorn's door as they entered Discipline. Crane joined him-just in case, not that he was worried about the woman- and raised an eyebrow at her expression. The woman was relearning how to speak, and wasn't able to tell him off. A pointed finger was the only answer the boy got.

"Nice try." Crane told the boy as he slouched back. "Now where is your room?"

"But-"

"Now!"

That banging-his-head-against-a-wall idea was looking better with each step.

Briar's room was neat, or at least neater than he'd expected. The pile of blankets at least didn't resemble a nest so much, even if they weren't on a proper bed. No knives scattered about the floor.

The boy had immediately crossed over to his window, where a shelf protruded. He grabbed a plant and cradled it defensively against his chest. "This is mine now!" he warned, "Don't think you can nick it!"

The rustling the _shakkan _made was the equivalent of a snicker. Crane glared at it. Traitor.

"I have no interest in your tree, even if it began as mine. I have plenty of my own _shakkans_. Now if we can begin on your lesson…"

It was not to be. The focus Briar had shown during the plague was completely gone. He fidgeted, his mind wandered. If Crane had not witnessed it with his own eyes, he would never have believed the boy would be capable of learning anything. "What is wrong with you today-" he began, patience finally gone, when they were interrupted by a long, wracking cough. The boy was out the door in an instant. By the time Crane crossed the room, he was only able to see the boy's foot vanish into Rosethorn's room. Her student was at her side, trying to give her a cup of willowbark tea. The look she gave him was murder.

"Lark said you gotta drink it." he insisted stubbornly. A hand darted up and tugged his ear. "Ow! Have to! You _have to _drink it."

"I should have thought of that," remarked Crane lightly, leaning against the doorframe, "If I had known it would work, I would have tried it already." The gesture she made at him was one they had learned in the hallowed halls of Lightsbridge, and was entirely inappropriate to use in front to a child. "I will not lower myself to vulgarity in order to reciprocate." He told her.

Briar scowled. "I don't see why I g- _have to_ have lessons while you're resting. I think I deserve a rest too."

"You have had more than enough time to recover from your escapade into the land of the dead," Crane supplied for Rosethorn, "In the meantime, you should do as your teacher commands and allow me to instruct you." The boy shuffled his feet, not even bothering to whine now that Rosethorn was in the room. His eyes darted to the figure in the bed.

Rosethorn. He was scared to leave Rosethorn alone. Crane could hardly blame him. The last time she had left she had nearly not returned.

Well. There was something he could do for that. And if it meant tormenting his rival a little more while she was so delightfully incapacitated, all the better.

"As you are clearly incapable of focusing without your primary teacher in the room," Briar scowled as he began speaking again, irritated by his recriminating tone. Crane paid him no mind as he continued, "I have no choice but to insist that we carry on your lesson here, where she can keep an eye on you."

_And I can keep an eye on_ her, he thought to himself as they both stared at him. Then Briar grinned, the antithesis to his teacher's dirty look. "I'll fetch the papers then!" he said, and bolted from the room before Crane could change his mind.

Rosethorn glowered at him. Like her charge, she was not tricked. _I will make you pay_, her eyes promised. He lifted an eyebrow in reply.

Briar reentered the room just in time to see his teacher clobber the Dedicate Initiate of the Air Temple with a pillow.

_I think it could be potentially a lot of fun to mess with Crane. Perhaps this is why Rosethorn does it so often?_

_Thank you for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think!_


	6. Suitcases

_I have returned! This chapters thanks go to HeartDancer for a review, favorite, AND follow! I also thank the rest of you for reading my story, just this month I have gotten 274 hits, including 22 today! Your attention is, as always, deeply appreciated._

_A/N: The quote this chapter comes from another fanfic; called __Everybody's Girl__ by Mila of the Grain. I highly recommend it to any readers who enjoy Tris-centric fanfictions. __  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Circle of Magic books. Nor do I own the quote._

Timeline- After the pirate attacks in Tris's Book, but reflections from throughout Sandry's Book

Tris-Lark Suitcases

"_I won't unpack my bags!"_

"_You will, eventually." –Everybody Else's Girl, by Mila of the Grain_

Tris held out three months before unpacking her bags.

At first it was because she was angry- angry at being shunted around _again,_ angry at Staghorn for thinking she should be grateful for any charity she didn't want, angry at Niko for leaving and angry at him for showing up again. Anger was an art for Trisana Chandler; and besides, what was the point of unpacking? Tris knew she'd be leaving in a matter of weeks. Since Uralle's death, none of her last few relatives had kept her more than two months. By now Trisana Chandler knew not to expect more than that.

Niko had come back though. Just like he'd promised, when promises to her weren't worth the air they touched. Tris didn't know how she felt about that, or about the lessons he said would make her stop being so odd, almost like she was normal. Then he told her that she wasn't mad, or cursed.

And just when she thought the earth was done with moving under her feet…

Well. Having three other children-_kids_ Briar would say, of all things- poking around in her head changed a few things.

Still, Tris kept her belongings in the big suitcase she'd lugged from every Chandler house in Capchen. Just in case. People had gotten tired of having her around before; even if they couldn't do cartwheels like Lark or sprinkle cinnamon on her porridge like Rosethorn, that didn't mean it wouldn't happen again. No one liked Tris for very long anyway.

It became habit, the dull jolt in her heart every time she opened her door and saw the full suitcase waiting for her. But Tris didn't let herself move her ugly black dresses to the wardrobe next to her bird tapestry. She couldn't set herself up for the blow she knew was coming.

The others noticed. How could they not, in the first few days when their emotions and thoughts were scribbled across each other's minds?

Sandry wanted her to get rid of it. She said it would help Tris move on. When she became strident about it Tris learned that she could shut someone out of her head, if she wanted to enough. Daja was the next to notice. She only remarked, in her measured voice, that Lark would be hurt if she saw that.

Briar was silent. Tris knew that he kept a small sack of food by his stolen tree, against the chance that the same thing happened to him.

Then the pirates came, and the nightmares followed. The first night Tris woke the whole house with screaming. For every night that week they were waiting for her, bloated faces of slaves that she had killed. Nothing kept them back for long, even working herself to exhaustion in the infirmary.

The worst night Tris dreamt that fingers, swollen to the size of sausages, pulled her down into the water, led by the chains that had drowned the slaves. No amount of screaming saved her, and as her head was pulled under she saw Aymery laughing.

When Tris woke her head was pillowed against something soft that smelled of wool. Her throat hurt; her face was puffy with tears and snot. Lark didn't seem to mind as she murmured into her ear, rocking her gently. Tris had been so wrapped up in her nightmare that she hadn't woken when the woman had pulled her half into her lap. Niko leaned against the doorframe, smoothing his mustache with shaking fingers. Briar had beaten the others into her room, white-faced, a clutch of silver wires in his fist. Sandry and Daja clamored in her mind, wanting to help.

"-had no idea it was so bad," her teacher was telling Lark.

Lark's hand traced designs in her back. "She hasn't slept a night through in a week. Rosie is thinking about making a potion to help her."

Rosethorn was the one to notice Briar inching closer. Tris hadn't seen her in the corner, cross-armed and dark-eyed. "Where do you think you're going?" she wanted to know, "Back to your own room. This isn't an exhibition."

"But Tris-" he began with a glance at her.

"Back. And your bed had best be made when I check in there tomorrow."

He lingered just outside the door, sinking roots in her mind. _Go on,_ Tris told him, _I'll be fine._

_They made me open the door, _he called back to her, _it was that or Lark was gonna have Frostpine bust it in._

Lark knew she was awake, she'd stopped screaming and settled for sobbing, but she didn't set Tris back on the bed. This was wrong. She shouldn't be held by someone like Dedicate Lark. But when she tried to raise her head Lark pushed her back down, murmuring "rest, child."

After that, she couldn't make herself try to get up. Lark didn't leave as Tris sank at last into an exhausted, mercifully dreamless, sleep. No one had held Tris in so long.

When she woke up the next morning Lark was in a chair by her bed, holding one of her hands as she dozed. Dark circles under her eyes told Tris she had stayed in the room all night, just in case Tris had nightmares again.

Slowly, so as not to wake the woman, Tris wiggled her hand from her grasp and set about hunting for clothes hangers.

_What do you think?_

_And does anyone have any ideas they would like to see? I would be happy to write or read them!_


	7. Man of the Family

_Wow. The response to this story has completely blown me over. This past month totaled 387 views. I could not believe how many people took the time to read my story. You've made my heart soar. Thanks go out this week to mythamagica for favoriting and ForestFaery, Reader4077 and Autumn Amber for their follows. _

_Ammoniterose103, thank you for your kind review, I'm glad you liked the story with Crane . There will be others! HeartDancer, thank you for your second review! I'm not sure if Tris's suitcases is canon or not, but it's something that I've always wondered about. I think that it's a great idea to have a story with a more distant character. If I write that, I think I would put it in a different story, but I would be sure to PM you about it! Tiffile, thank you also. You've given me a lot of ideas! I especially like the Briar/Gorse one. It might take me a while, because I want to do them justice, but I'll try to write some of those for you! _

_And to all of you who have read this story, all 693 of you, thank you from the depths of my heart!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Circle of Magic books. _

Timeline: Sandry's Book, before earthquake

Frostpine-Briar Man of the Family

_Every other adult that he'd met, besides Niko, hit every kid he knew. -Sandry's Book_

It might be unfair to Kirel, but Frostpine had never had an apprentice he liked as much as Daja.

No one's magic had ever felt so…_attuned_ to his before. She was quiet, but with wounds on her spirit nearly identical to the ones Frostpine had carried to his arrival at Winding Circle. When they worked in the forge, the beat of their hammers on metal sounded like instruments, twining in perfect harmony.

The only problem was that Daja had not yet learned to temper her focus with self-awareness. Though, come to think of it, Frostpine couldn't think of something to make the lesson stick more than taking a hammer to the face.

"At least you're impervious to the heat," Kirel remarked, laying his own work down to watch as Frostpine examined the mouse under her eye, "Then it would have really smarted."

Daja winced as he probed a sore spot. "I'd say it hurt enough all the same."

Her eyes were clear, as was her voice. "You don't seem to have a concussion," Frostpine released her, "But you should head back, just in case." Daja began to protest. Frostpine stopped her with a raised hand. "The day is almost over anyway. I'll save your project. Sunsday is the day of rest, and tomorrow you'll feel like you've earned it. Kirel, could you make sure she gets home alright?"

"I'm fine!" she muttered rebelliously as Kirel helped her out, "It doesn't even hurt!"

"It will," Kirel said, with the experience of a senior apprentice, "Trust me."

Sunsday was the day of rest in Winding Circle, but Kirel had a project he had corralled Frostpine into helping with: a Midwinter gift for his mother. Knowing how close the pair were; Frostpine hadn't given into the temptation to tease him.

Much.

He was kindling the fires when Kirel arrived, coal in hand and a faint frown on his face.

"Did you know you have an extra shadow?"

He really was too much like Daja, Frostpine decided. His mind was already on the project, "Hmm?"

"That boy Daja lives with," Kirel kept his voice low, a deterrent to eavesdroppers, "He's been hanging around the forge since I went to get coal."

That was odd. He'd only seen the boy a handful of times since he'd taken Daja on. Frostpine had been trying to make it a habit to spend time at her home, to learn more about her, but it was still slow going. It was nice to talk to Lark and Rosethorn (nicer to talk with Lark, usually). Rosethorn had mentioned Briar's history briefly to him, but only as a warning between friends. A thief's habits were hard to break, and Frostpine worked with a lot of Winding Circle's precious metals.

"Do we have to wait until he talks to you?" Kirel asked, voice pleading, "I've been waiting forever to start working on this!"

Briar was free to come in if he needed. As it was, Frostpine had been too distracted from Kirel's training of late. It was hard to balance the needs of two apprentices, especially when Kirel was so far ahead of Daja, and without her magical capabilities. In his shoes, Frostpine wasn't sure he could be so patient. "Let's get started."

Kirel had chosen a set of fine jewelry for his mother. It was to be done in gold, and he had wheedled Frostpine into placing protective charms into the runes he would engrave. Frostpine's main duty was to observe.

It gave him plenty of time to observe the boy hiding just outside the forge, peeking in as he spoke with his apprentice. Briar- that was his name, right?- didn't make himself known. Frostpine pretended he couldn't feel his eyes as he helped Kirel.

Shortly after the noon bell rang, he vanished as silently as he'd come. If Rosethorn had ordered him back by then, Frostpine didn't blame him.

Kirel, wholly absorbed in engraving, didn't notice. Frostpine was left to wonder alone why he had snuck over. If Briar had meant to steal, why didn't he leave when he saw the pair working? What was his business here, on his day off?

The next day, Daja was back as soon as meditations were over, plus a staring, silent shadow; and Frostpine understood. The bump on her cheekbone had grown into a full-fledged bruise.

"Rosethorn said it was a pretty good one. It took a while for the swelling to go down, even with her balm. She thought I got into a fight." she frowned then, "Briar was impressed until he heard I got it here. I guess it wasn't as exciting as he thought."

"I see." Frostpine had traveled in his day. He was able to guess what Briar had thought. Maybe dropping by to see how Frostpine treated his apprentices hurt proved the boy wasn't as psychopathic as Crane claimed. "Well, you may tell him there will be other fights to get into, after you work on these nails." He grinned at her groan of exasperation.

Later, after the earthquake, Briar began poking around again every once in a while, volunteering to carry coal and watching them work. Frostpine let him. Until now, the boy's life had lacked any sort of father-figure, however remotely connected. He understood that Niko, while a fine person, didn't embody the same sense of masculinity as a near seven-foot man swinging a hammer. He only hoped he would be a better role-model than the Thief-Lord who featured in Briar's few stories.

_What do you think? Good? Bad? Hopefully everyone enjoys, and thanks again for reading! _


	8. Nightlight

_This might be the last chapter for a while, I'll be going on a brief vacation to see family, and there's no telling when I'll next be in contact with a computer. In the meantime, hopefully this will tide you over. We're nearing one thousand hits on this story, which is amazing to me. Thank you all for your continued support and encouragement. Sorry this one's so short!_

Niko-Sandry Nightlight

Timeline: Pre-Sandry's Book.

_The light struck her eyes, which had been in the dark for so long. Pain made her scream and cover them. She would see almost nothing for quite some time. –Sandry's Book_

It was three days before Niko worked up the courage to see the girl they found in the cellar. Three days trying to figure out what to say to her. Nobles were tetchy creatures at best, and so few of them were ever at their best. A week in a cellar wasn't known to improve matters. Though this girl was the great-niece of his friend Duke Vedris, he didn't hold out much hope. Certainly the Duke's own two sons didn't inspire confidence.

"She won't talk to us!" whined the healer's apprentice. Her master was sleeping, exhausted by the influx of smallpox patients in the weeks. Niko barely gave her a look. The child had spent two weeks in a cellar with nothing but a braid of string for company. Talking was the least of their worries.

"_I_ will talk with her," he said firmly, knowing that she was the kind of healer who wouldn't argue with anyone who raised their voice, "Alone."

The girl Sandreline was sitting up, head turned door when he entered. Her magic sprawled out of her, a silver mess of tangles. Though untrained, he could see that she could grow to be as strong as his friend Lark.

Her eyes were covered by a blindfold. "Who's there?" she asked, voice healed from her ordeal by potions and a healer's magic.

"Hello. My name is Niko." Better to keep it friendly. He didn't know what this girl knew of the world of mages yet. Bandying his name around was no longer the act of an amateur. Untrained though she was, she might still recognize his name. Let him be a common stranger. Anything more would make her uncomfortable.

Small hands flew to the blindfold. "Why do I need this? I don't want to wear it!"

"No, no!" The apprentice healer cried out, her voice weak and shrill. "You must keep that on, milady!"

"Thank you," Niko told her pleasantly, "That will be all."

She glared up at him. "Her eyes need to adjust. The blindfold stays."

Behind him, Niko could hear the girl whimper.

He shut the door on the healer's face. The small lady, shrunken in light of her newfound inheritance, tried to stare as he made his way to the bed.

"Maybe I sit with you?" She drew her knees to her chest to give him more room. Niko tried to think of what to say over the beating of the looms. "I am one of the group who found you."

"Thank you." she said quietly, because it was expected.

The blindfold was silk, a parody of wealth. It was black for mourning. Her parents had been found before the girl, and in the excitement people had almost forgotten the bright girl who traveled with them.

Now the brightness was diluted, invaded by shadows. Sandrilene fa Toren was thin and slight on the large velvet bed, clearly miserable. Now that the healer was gone, her fingers snuck to the blindfold again, and Niko could see it had been knotted specially because she kept fighting it. Sandrilene fa Toren was a fighter when she had to be, and a lady only when all else failed. "I want it off!" she said, agitated, "Please, I'll be good. I need it off."

Unnoticed, he winced, "Exposing your eyes to light right away risks damaging them."

"I'll be good," she said again, a child's bargain.

"Sandrilene-"

"It's dark. I don't like the dark." Her breath caught; the prelude to a sob. "I don't want to be in the dark anymore."

He was being ridiculous, listening to the healer, getting too caught up in being just Niko. He was Niklaren Goldeye, the greatest ocular mage in the world.

Her breath caught as his fingers went to her temples. Niko was fairly sure the girl couldn't see magic, but she might be able to feel it, coolness dissolving into her blood. Then she gasped, as Niko wove an illusion in her mind that let her see a field. Flowers were in bloom, and if Rosethorn had been there she would have said they were out of season. Most importantly the sun shone. The magic fed directly into her brain, and wouldn't hurt her eyes at all.

"As soon as she wakes up, I'll have the _real_ healer look at you." he told her gently, "She'll see how far along your eyes are, and how much light they can be adjusted to. I imagine that you'll be allowed to take it off soon."

Her hand grabbed his arm until fingernails dug into his flesh. "Can you stay until then?"

Uneasily, Niko shifted until she could feel him next to her. "Until the healer comes," he agreed.

Even with his magic, it would be years before Niklaren Goldeye could see how much his life would change with this promise.

_See y'all soon!_


	9. Burns

_Hello all! Here is the next installment of Teaching Discipline. Sorry, it gave me a bit of trouble. And then the plot bunnies ran off with my creativity and ransomed it for a PotS fanfic. _

_Thanks go out this chapter to mistrali for her loverly review, beachywino22 for their favorite, ReneeHarris for favoriting both this fic and Unforgiveness. And, of course, I thank you all for reading my stories. I was flabbergasted to find that my story had 535 hits last month, and had reached past the thousand view mark. You are all truly amazing, wonderful, kind people (who have exceptionally good taste ;) ). Thank you for changing my bad days into uplifting ones. _

_I also have a slight notice. Up until this point I have been writing in a pre-planned format for the chapters. However, due to a few requests for chapters and a general cooperation of inspiration, I will be taking a few twists and turns from here on out._

Rosethorn-Daja Burns

Timeline: After returning to Winding Circle, following Daja's Book.

Tris's nightmares were plagued with pirates, Lark's with a lack of air and thin alleyways. When Rosethorn woke up in a cold sweat, she could remember the fire devouring her bark, tearing hot fingers into the flesh of her trunk. High in the air at Gold Ridge, she had thrust her magic into the green life so thoroughly that she had very nearly become a tree herself. When Rosethorn awoke, it was always with relief that her young charge with the forge magic had saved the people in time.

Daja was a puzzle to Rosethorn. She had been raised in Alderaan, where the farmers had to be tough to fight off raiders and droughts. And Rosethorn's toughness was thick. With the others, even Tris, she could snap at them, knowing that they would snap right back and they could have a fine time of it. Daja weathered her temper without a flicker of consternation.

That didn't mean that this morning she'd managed to escape Rosethorn's wrath, not with the ridiculous stunt she'd pulled while cleaning from breakfast.

"Of all the pox-brained, idiotic, ill-conceived-"

"I think I've gotten the picture now."

Daja's remark went ignored. Rosethorn continued grumbling as she inspected Daja's hand.

_I could have told you she'd do that._ Briar, who was missing his lessons while his teacher fussed, was singularly unsympathetic.

_I'm sorry._

On the other side of the cottage, he snorted._ Sorry doesn't do us much good. I don't see why I have to be the one punished for _your_ bein' stupid._

"Festering, reckless, stupid-"

_I didn't think anyone would notice._

_You did it in full view of everyone. Couldn't you have waited until you went to Frostpine?_

Daja shut Briar out of her mind. He wasn't helping.

"Monkey-brained-"

"I thought I was pox-brained," she volunteered quietly.

The look Rosethorn gave her was poisonous. "You're not so big I can't hang you in the well."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" the dedicate asked sharply, "For taking up my valuable time, or for shoving your hand into the _fireplace_?"

Daja winced. "I didn't mean to worry you about it."

This clearly wasn't helping. "Is that supposed to be a consolation? Do you think that you coated one hand in brass, you get to stick the other one into flames whenever you want?"

That stung, more than Daja had meant to let it. That was probably why her words slipped out, when they usually stayed so carefully controlled. "I had to see if it still worked!"

Rosethorn frowned. "If what worked?"

She flushed. Daja didn't like airing out her little dramas. That was Tris's area of expertise. "Sandry separated all our magics. I wanted to see if I was still able to handle fire without getting burnt. I had to!"

Rosethorn stared at her. "You could handle fire before?" Daja nodded. "And you didn't think to tell us? When we saw you put your hand in the heath-" She stopped herself abruptly, twin spots of color in her cheeks. Daja looked down, face hot.

After a pause, Rosethorn ran her hand over Daja's palm again. "Well. Your hand is fine. And no more lies, if you please. Why else did you do it?"

Daja started. The woman quirked an eyebrow.

Suddenly she was very glad she had shut Briar out. Airing out her problems to one person was mortifying enough. "I need to be able to handle fire. I can't be scared of it, like Sandry and the dark. If something happens…" She couldn't go on. Daja had already lost one family.

Something fearsome and terrifying faded from Rosethorn's eyes, though Daja didn't see it. She was avoiding the woman's eyes. Briar had been knocking on the door to her mind. Mortified by her display of emotion, she kept it tightly closed.

Briar gave up and started trying to pick the lock on it.

While her hand was unharmed, Rosethorn wasn't one to let a fright go unwarned. "You are supposed to be smarter than that. Don't you ever scare m-Lark," she cleared her throat, "Lark. Don't you dare scare her like that again. Do you understand me?"

It took years of Trader training to mask her smile. At last, Daja was able to see the Rosethorn that Briar and Tris saw, "Yes, Rosethorn."

xxxxx

"Look after my boy when I'm gone," she rasped through a throat parched despite the work of tea and water. Daja stilled, but Rosethorn knew she would agree. She had worked so hard to save the caravans who had scorned her; she would help Briar.

_A little short? Let me know! (__Bonus cookie if you can find the hidden quote!)_


	10. Cooking Lessons

_A little early, I know, but I couldn't resist. I'm trying to get as many chapters done as possible before school starts again_

_Thanks this chapter go out to all my lovely readers. You are all wonderful!_

_This chapter is on request from Tiffile. I hope it was worth the wait. I tried to be unconventional on it. Thank you for your ideas and your belief. Please let me know what you think about it!_

Gorse-Briar Cooking Lessons

_Roach wondered if he was looking for a cute little servant boy, and grinned. Men who liked play-toys always regretted meeting him. -Roach, Sandry's Book_

_He was never in the kitchens for longer than a minute or two before Gorse showed up and gave him something to eat. -Briar, Tris's Book_

Timeline: Scattered, mainly pre-Sandry's book

Contrary to popular belief and local Winding Circle lore, Briar and Gorse were not immediate friends. Briar was too cagey for that, still with one foot in the streets and a wariness for anyone who promised a full belly. He didn't trust the dedicate in charge. No one with that much work was that happy, ever. And Gorse, if that was his name, had a disconcerting habit of knowing exactly where Briar was.

So, hard as it was, he limited his times in the kitchens to the dusks and half-lights, when the fires were dimmed and the apprentices were off cooling their toesies in the bathing halls.

It wasn't hard to slip out of the Air Temple Dormitories at night, not like it would have been if Niko hadn't gone running off to Capchen. Niko was hard to get past, but not these stiff-necked dedicates and stupid merchant boys. No one wanted Briar in the normal lessons, least of all Briar himself, and if he skipped them, no one complained. In the daylight, when the other boys were stuck in classes, he wandered the paths, memorizing faces and escape routes; breaking leaves and twigs off the plants lining the roads, and waiting for the time to raid the kitchens.

It was stupid to miss Niko; since when had he needed a nursemaid? Briar forbade himself the hollow feeling. There were rules to break, cupboards to pilfer, and no thief lord to demand he steal from this or that house. All he needed was for the clock on the Hub to strike the sleeping hour.

When Gorse still appeared, ready to offer him something to eat, he was instantly suspicious. Briar didn't like when men took such a strong interest in him. It didn't mean anything like good in Deadman's District. The first thing Gorse gave him ended up in the trash heap; Briar had seen the effects of drugs before, had seen the dead eyes in still-living kids who listened to the adults. Niko was different, but Niko was also gone, so a lot of good that had done him.

"That is thyme."

Briar jumped away from the voice, snatching his hand out of the bowl of dried herbs. A man as large as Gorse should not be able to move that fast. And no one was supposed to know he was here. The kitchen had been deserted, he had checked, waited for everyone to leave. "I know that." Niko had told him once, before vanishing.

"And what you are holding is basil."

Against his will, Briar's eyes snuck down. A large leaf, wilted and bruised from its journey in his pocket, hung limply in his hand.

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're saying!" Indignation was good; it confused people.

The cook chuckled, "Of course not. Basil would do no good like that." He was careful not to actually touch Briar as he ushered him towards a table. "In my country, we use basil in soup. Gengtang. Strong food." Briar stopped just short of actually sitting in the chair offered to him. "I will teach you to make. Then you will not be so skinny."

Briar hesitated. This was out of his comfort zone. But he'd never tasted yanjingi food before, and he'd be able to see what the bigger man put into the bowl…

It wasn't like there was anyone waiting for him in the dormitories…

"I want to use the basil from here," he said, waving the wilted leaf, "Not this one. The good kind."

"Of course." The man was already gathering ingredients. He sat down on the opposite end of the table, leaving Briar's path to the door unimpeded. "Now, to work! In this country, basil is more used dried. But is still good fresh."

It wasn't until after the soup eaten and he had been ushered from the warmth of the kitchens that Briar realized he had forgotten to be wary.

It was two days before the boy reappeared in the kitchens. He clutched a sprig of some plant in one hand. Its leaves were layered almost like a flower, though Briar was sure it wasn't one.

Gorse was already approaching. The rush of preparing for dinner was dying off now, the crowds thinning. There were people though, cleaning and storing ingredients, if he needed to lose himself in a crowd. "Good to see you again!"

Briar shoved his hand up through the air, inexplicably nervous. He was being ridiculous; he had four knives on him and could run faster than this man any day of the week.

Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to meet the man's eye. "What's this used for?"

The cook smiled brightly, "Oregano?" He clapped Briar on the shoulder, "Many things! You are from Hajra, yes or no? Let me show you how to make native dish!"

Not-quite-so-reluctantly, Briar let himself be led to a familiar table.

Later, Rosethorn would give him lessons on spices, and would be surprised that a boy so skinny knew so much about their culinary uses. Then, seeing where he disappeared off to in his spare time, she decided it wasn't so surprising after all.

Gorse swore when he cooked, but not in any language Briar had ever heard. It was an odd language, with his voice going up and down and up again, in odd sing-song. Briar supposed one of the skirts he was penned up with would probably think it was pretty. He locked the words into his mind anyway. He had an idea of what they were used for.

Four years later, Evvy giggled when Briar cooked, muttering in yanjingi. "Do you know what those words mean? You'd better not say them to the emperor."

Gorse did not allow rats into his kitchen. When one of his assistants told him one had snuck in and was hiding by the benches, he almost punted him into an oven.

Then and there, hiding under the table, Briar decided maybe he could like the man after all.

_Niko features in Briar's thoughts so much in this chapter because he is the first man Briar has ever met who's been remotely kind to him, and then he abruptly vanished. As I doubt Briar went to any of the lessons that the others attended before going to Discipline, I am sure that he had a lot of time to think, and probably wondered about the man._

_Please let me know what you think! Constructive criticisms welcome! And if anyone else has any ideas, please let me know! _


	11. Grinch

_Hello again! In keeping with my new writing vows, I wrote this one post-haste! I know it's short, but I think it's funny, and it was hard to do one with Daja and Crane because they didn't have any really compatible canon. However, I have always suspected this would come to pass. _

_Thank you all for reading my work. We've made it to nearly 1500 hits! This is huge for me, and it gives me warm fuzzies daily. _

_Crane-Daja Grinch_

Timeline: After Daja's Book, before Briar's.

Dedicates of the Living Circle gave up their old lives when they joined the temple. They shed their status, their family, even their names, in order to help others without any past dramas hindering them.

Crane's mother simply would not accept that. And no matter how many times he insisted to her that he had no need of a Midwinter gift, she sent one tirelessly each year, each tawdry or overly ornate.

This winter though, was the first of many he had been able to appreciate it.

The creation had been haggled from Traders making their way around the country. Crane didn't know how much she had paid to have them deliver the gift as well, but sometimes with his mother it was best just not to ask. Instead, he took it into his private greenhouse and examined it.

The creation was clearly a work of magic, though what kind he didn't know. He had never felt such a mixture in a person, let alone an inanimate object. It was alive, despite the dead materials it was composed of. It consumed minerals, just as plants and animals did. He couldn't wait for the chance to explore it with his magic.

"Crane?" called Osprey from the hall. With a sigh he straightened. Look at him, goggling like a child over a present. It wouldn't do at all for his apprentice to see him like that. "Rosethorn's sent you a messenger- and it's not the boy, so leave don't bark at me!"

Oh, Crane had not missed them while Discipline Cottage had traipsed all over creation with his Grace. It had been nice to have time to breathe without that infernal woman and her pick-pocket apprentice at every turn.

"Dedicate Crane?" it was the Trader girl, the one Frostpine was training. She at least had the modicum of respect to bow, though she didn't look much impressed with him. Her eyes wandered his study, "Rosethorn wants to talk Watersday to you abou-" she stopped, mouth open.

"Well?" prompted Crane.

Her mouth twitched. The girl fought a giggle and lost.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded crossly.

That did it. The girl burst into loud, raucous laughter. Crane watched, mildly aghast, as she doubled up, still in the grip of her insanity.

"Here you are!" she gasped, thrusting a note into his hand, "Have a nice day!" and with a final whoop of laughter she left, leaving him feeling more displaced than if she had attacked him.

"Little hellions, the lot of them…" he grumbled as he scanned the paper. Osprey looked on, lips twitching as well, though it was obvious she wasn't in on the joke.

He simply couldn't understand what was so amusing about his Midwinter gift. That woman simply wasn't raising those children to understand finery, if the calmest of the bunch couldn't appreciate the beauty of a magical metal tree with living copper buds.

_A shorty but a goodie? Let me know!_


	12. Crumbs in the Kitchen Redux

_I'm back, probably for the last time before I go back to college. Hopefully I'll still find the time to post! This is a little plot bunny run wild, but please tell me what you think._

_Thanks this chapter go out to HeartDancer and BookFreak976, I'm so happy you thought it was funny, and to the wonderful followers/readers of my story. Thank you for believing in me!  
_

_Lark-Briar Crumbs in the Kitchen Redux_

Timeline: after Briar's Book, before epilogue

The plague had finally run its course. Lark praised Mila and Green Man that Crane had found the cure in time; that the medicine had worked. Mostly she thanked the two that Niko had brought four damaged children to Winding Circle.

She fell asleep sitting beside Rosethorn's bed, and woke up clawing the air with her free hand, trying to keep her wheezes silent so that she wouldn't wake Rosie.

She should have expected them. Her entire world had almost gone today, first Rosie, then the children as well. When she'd found them all lying on the floor, unconscious, Lark's heart had stopped too. She didn't even remember what she'd shouted at Niko before succumbing to an asthma attack, but she would have to apologize for it tomorrow.

Rosethorn's skin was still ashy, though Moonstream assured them that the pneumonia was gone. For a horrible, dizzying moment, Lark couldn't see her chest rise in the candlelight.

Then she saw the shift of blankets and some- not all- of the tightness in her chest eased. With difficulty, Lark extracted her hand from Rosie's and slipped out of the room. She might have to make her rounds two or three times tonight before the wheezes left her be this time.

The knickknacks had acquired a fine layer of dust; chores had come to a standstill in the final days of the epidemic. Once Rosie was up and Lark could assure the children (and herself) that the prickly woman would be fine, they would start them again. Hopefully the work added when responsibilities had been let go would be a good lesson for the youngsters.

There were new gewgaws now, mementoes of the whirlwind year they'd all had. Daja's jade cat had been placed in the corner, glass with bits of saffron in it sat on the opposite end of the hearth.

After their adventures today, the four had been carried to their beds, but they'd all ended up here, as Lark had suspected they might.

Three of the children were clustered around the household altar, the way they'd slept ever since Rosethorn had been ordered to bed rest. Tris, her usual inhibitions forgotten in the haze of exhaustion, was curled up with Sandry, copper hair mingling with corn-silk. Daja leaned against the wall, her Trader's staff forgotten on the table. That made Lark feel a bit better, she'd had a good scare when Daja had been offered a place in Third Caravan Idaram. The reminder that Daja could have been taken from her hurt her heart.

She'd taken to imagining they'd picked up things from the two of them, an odd, jumbled inheritance. Tris's temper could have easily cropped up from Rosie. Lark liked to think Daja's dry humor had rubbed off from her.

Briar was gone, perhaps to the privy, or, more likely, the kitchen. She was surprised that he'd even been able to stand, after everything that had happened, but Niko had warned them that the children had been powerful, even before they'd spun themselves together.

For a few precious moments, Lark stood in the shadows that had protected her in the Mire, and watched them. She had always wanted children; though she knew Rosethorn had been violently against the idea until Briar was dragged to their door.

Blankets had been wrapped securely around all of their shoulders. Lark, who in her rounds had discovered Sandry's blankets sometimes moved (out of sheer excitement, the dears), realized upon close examination that two had been draped around the noble to prevent wandering.

But Briar really was taking too long. Maybe he had gotten into a conversation with his _shakkan_. Once, in the midst of a spectacular argument with a fir tree, Rosethorn had missed two meals in a similar fashion.

Only Briar had quite firmly insisted that his _shakkan_ stay with Rosie, to keep an eye on her.

Frowning now, Lark crept around the house, looking for green eyes and double x tattoos, and the knowledge that one should keep to the shadows.

He was in the parlor. When she deliberately bumped the table, so as not to frighten him, he spun around and nearly dropped the jade cat.

"You should be asleep." She smiled, to reassure him. Old habits cropped up at the oddest times and she didn't want him to think he was in trouble.

Clearly he didn't. He made a face. "I slept enough." But he kept his voice down. The girls were right in the corridor, and he didn't want to wake them.

Finally, fidgeting, he added, "I wanted to take a walk."

Lark considered him for a moment. The shadows they hid in fell into his eyes, the way they did when something reminded him of his old life. "I thought Rosethorn had finally gotten it into your head that you have to wear shoes outside now."

He reddened. "I didn't want to walk outside."

Realization struck Lark like Tris's magic gone out of control, the reason he was wandering the cottage the night after he had almost lost his teacher.

Seemingly Briar had been the child to inherit her rounds.

Lark put an arm around his shoulder. "We can drink some tea in Rosethorn's room," she said, knowing it would be useless to suggest it be sleepy tea. She wasn't eager to sleep again after those dreams either, "And I'll even tell you one of the stories about when she was a novice, and got into spats with Crane in the dining halls."

Her words managed to chase away some of the shadows. With time, and luck, they could burn away the rest of them. "Who won?"

She winked as she steered him to Rosie's room. "We let Crane _think_ he won. That's the trick of it." And, she joined him, "You see, before Gorse was in charge of the kitchens, there was this awful old lady who didn't know thyme from basil, and…"

_I'm having a bit of unexpected trouble with the next chapter. It might be a bit longer before I get that one out. If anyone has any ideas they would like to see, please let me know, and it might help get the creative juices flowing!_


	13. Debt Day

_Wow. My computer broke as soon as I moved into my new dorm, and I temporarily lost access to all of my fanfictions. Sorry for the delay! (By the way, is anyone as excited as me for Battle Magic?! Ten more days!)_

_But I was completely blown away by the response in the past two weeks. Thank you all. I hope I live up to your expectations. Thank you GreenQueen615 for following me, and to Tamorapiercefanatic for your review on __Suitcases__ and __Man of the Family__. To Rianna Hunter for her follow and Salazarfalcon for both following and favoriting! And thank you Mistrali for your detailed reviews on many chapters. It meant a lot to me that you took the time to comment on so many. Thank you .Scarlet07 for following as well. Lastly, thank you all, anyone who reads this fanfiction. It means so much to me. _

_Without further ado (because there's been so much of it already!) On to the story!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing! T.T_

Lark-Daja Debt Day

Timeline: After Daja's Book, before Briar's Book.

When Daja opened the door, the usually friendly girl was frowning. "I can'-Lark. Hello."

She leaned on the doorframe, carefully blocking the dedicate's view of her room. "Is it important, because I'm in the middle of something…"

"I believe we both know that it is." Lark answered solemnly, but her dark eyes sparked with mirth all the same. She framed them with two fingers and dipped into a curtsy.

The idea that Lark would bow to her, even in jest, made Daja very uncomfortable. On today of all days, she was reminded of how things would be in a Trader household, and an adult submitting to a child was simply not done. "Please don't do that."

"I was wondering if you would mind allowing me to join you."

Daja blinked. Shifting feet betrayed her confusion. "You're Living Circle. You don't believe in Trader Koma and Bookkeeper Oti."

"I don't think that Mila would mind. She knows that I dabbled in other religions before dedicating myself. And Bookkeeper Oti is like an old friend."

The girl hesitated. That didn't seem like the most respectful way to talk about a goddess. Maybe Lark thought she could get away with it because she didn't worship Oti. Daja bet she could get Lark to leave if she wanted.

But hadn't she just been upset about being alone for the ceremony?

Sliding out of the way, Daja was letting Lark in when saw Tris watching from her room. The redhead pushed against the connection in their minds, but Daja shook her head and closed the door. Tris was her _saati_, but she didn't know _Tsaw'ha_ ways yet, and today would hurt too much to explain. Tris could hunt down Sandry if she wanted to know so badly.

When Daja turned back, Lark was paying respects to the little altar Daja had set up.

"I didn't know you knew about Debt Day."

She spoke in Trader, just to see what Lark would do. A bit of stubbornness made her rigid. This was a _Tsaw'ha_ holy day. She would speak in Trader if she wanted to.

"My troupe traveled with Caravan Qurilta for over a year." Lark answered in the same language without missing a beat. "I remember my friend Yazmín was upset because the Caravan refused to move until their ceremonies were finished." She smiled at the memory. "You'll have to show me if the Blue Traders worship any differently than the White Traders."

Daja found herself smiling; though she knew that today she should be sad and stiff in memory of the family she'd lost at sea. Debt Day wasn't really a celebration anyway, more of a reparation for any forgotten obligations.

The holy day was not a celebration, like the Solstices at Winding Circle. Debt Day was the day each year Bookkeeper Oti looked over her accounts, and tallied who owed what among the _Tsaw'ha_. Traders everywhere tried to fulfill any debts they may have incurred over the year, and apologized to their gods for any slights they may have missed.

Lark murmured the prayers with her, only fumbling once or twice. She'd even brought a small amount of money for the altar, an offering to atone for any vows left undone. Daja watched carefully, trying to see if Koma and Oti didn't approve of _lugsha_ attending to their needs, but nothing untoward happened.

It wasn't until Daja had snuffed out the candles that Lark perched on her bed. The woman's cat-like face was tilted towards her _suraku_.

Feeling suddenly almost embarrassed, she sidled into Lark's way, blocking the _suraku _from sight. "I… thanks for that." She had been dreading performing the ceremony alone.

"It was nothing. Polyam wrote us saying Tenth Cavaran Idaram will be here for the next holiday. She made sure _gilav_ Chandrisa added Winding Circle to their route. But I thought you wouldn't want to be alone for this one. It is so important to your people."

The girl swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat. It had only been a year since Third Ship Kisubo…since she'd been declared _trangshi_. Then, she had been forbidden to participate in the ceremonies. Now, two months into her new status with Tenth Caravan Idaram, the grief somehow seemed fresher.

She played with the scarlet armband Lark had made for her. "You still didn't have to do it."

Lark stood and approached her cautiously. Lark had always been good at reading the turmoil in her charges. "Well, I did have an ulterior motive." When Daja looked at her, confused, she gestured at the _suraku,_ "I wanted your family to know that you won't be made to forget their ways. You'll still be able to celebrate the _Tsaw'ha_ traditions. Rosie and I appreciate other cultures. And," she added, nodding towards her door, "If you don't want to tell us, I think you have a few _saati_ who might be interested in learning."

On the other side of the door and in the corner of her mind, Daja could hear Sandry explaining the idea of Debt Day to Tris and Briar as she practiced her weaving. Maybe she _could_ tell them herself. After all, they weren't completely _kaqs_.

Lark smiled at her. "I'm off to go prepare dinner. I'll leave you to the rest of your celebrations."

That night, before eating a dinner of traditional Trader food Lark somehow knew to prepare, Daja told the other three her favorite stories of Trader Koma and even some of the Debt Day prayers. Distracted as she was, she missed Lark slip into her empty room and bow deeply to her family altar.

"I'll take care of her," she promised the two candles meant to represent Daja's parents.

_Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think, and requests are always welcome!_


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